


The Volatile Nature of Binary Stars

by OneOfThoseThings



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A dark-ish ambience if you will, Alternate Universe - Dark, Awesome Donna Noble, But also Dark!Donna, Dark Comedy, Dr Nyarlathotep, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Rating Rounded Up (for Safety), Telepathy, The Master is in this feel free to guess the warnings, This fic has a lot of tags to avoid triggering but it's really not the focus more just a backdrop, Time Lord Donna Noble, Time skips between chapters, Unhealthy Relationships, Whatever the telepathic equivalent of dubcon is, casual imprisonment, lowkey torture, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOfThoseThings/pseuds/OneOfThoseThings
Summary: A dark(er) AU in which the Master happens upon a mind-wiped Donna and gives her a little boost the rest of the way to full Time Lord status. Then they both return to the TARDIS and an unsuspecting Doctor.Life aboard the TARDIS is suddenly much less lonely and much more hostile.Spoiler: Unlike most fix-its, in this one Donna is Not pleased that she was abandoned and does Not magically just get over that.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Master (Simm) & Donna Noble
Comments: 106
Kudos: 114





	1. The Inexorable Pull

Having entirely failed to convince the TARDIS to stop keeping a running count of his sighs, the Doctor was more than glad to pick up a distress beacon. He followed it to a deep mine on an abandoned outpost. A malfunctioning neural net seemed to be blocking his signals and interfering with his higher senses, but he forged ahead, heading deeper and deeper into the tunnel until he found a med pack, half-opened and untouched by dust. 

“Hello?” he called, “Is anyone here?” 

A barely audible wheeze came from just behind a stalagmite formation, and he headed straight for it. “Are you hurt? Can you speak?” He had to work his way through the crystals and it was a struggle to grip the uneven surfaces. With a final leap, he landed in front of a spacesuit that looked a few centuries out of place. 

“Hello, I’m the Doctor,” he announced. 

There was a strange sizzling sensation and then a containment field snapped into place, trapping him immediately. 

“What? What??” He hopped back, hit the field, and jerked forward at the jolt, narrowly avoiding knocking back into it on the other side. “What!?!” 

“You see, I told you we’d only need the beacon,” a strangely familiar voice came from near one of the larger stalagmites.

The Doctor jerked around, and something flickered out of place as he moved― a perception filter. He turned his head, trying to use his peripheral vision. Two figures blinked in and out of range, too fast for him to focus.

“And _I_ told _you_ , it’d be more fun with live hostages,” a second, more familiar voice said― this one male. “How long have we been sitting here? I could have tortured up such a macabre scene,” the disembodied voice sighed wistfully. 

The Doctor knew that voice. If he could just place it…

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you carve up innocent people like pumpkins. That’s disgusting. Get a better hobby.” The female voice sounded familiar as well, but he was sure they didn’t go together.

“I believe we discussed your tone during this exercise,” the male warned, cooly. 

“Stop trying to trick me into watching you torture people and see if that gets you a better tone,” the female suggested. 

The Doctor squinted, turning his head and caught another glimpse of the pair. They were humanoid. Roughly the same height. He looked too directly, lost the balance, and had to start over. 

“…What’s wrong with him? You didn’t gas him did you? I _told_ you―“

“Perception filters,” the male voice said in sing-song. 

The Doctor’s spine locked. He _knew_ that voice.

Right on cue, the Master flickered into visual range, waving a small ring at the space beside himself. 

A moment later, Donna Noble appeared next to him. 

The Doctor nearly jumped out of his skin. He hit the back of the containment field, lurched forward, and nearly smashed face-first into the opposite side. 

“Donna?!” He flailed, frantically probing for any weakness in the field. “Donna, you have to get out of here! That’s―“

“Oh, look,” Donna cut him off, “He _does_ remember me. That’s something, I suppose.” 

The palms of his hands stung where he pressed them against the field. “Donna, you need to run! _Now!_ ” 

The Master tutted, “Doctor, how can you still be _this_ slow after all these years?” He turned to Donna. “Really, you mustn’t let this color your opinion of Time Lords on the whole. He’s the very bottom of the curve, I assure you.” 

Donna looked at the mass murderer like he was a mildly inconvenient child she had to look after. “Do I really need to be here for this bit?” 

He tutted again, “Patience, patience. You’ll never be a proper Time Lady if you can’t learn to be patient.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and guided her forward. “And you know full well that the best bit is coming.” 

Donna rolled her eyes, but allowed herself to be pulled forward. 

The Doctor pressed himself as close as he could to the barrier, the electric current crackling. “Donna, get away from him! That’s the Master! I don’t know what he’s told you, but you have to _run! Now!_ ”

Donna sighed, looking annoyed of all things. “Yeah, I know who he is. We came here together.” 

“Most of this was her idea!” the Master added, bouncing slightly. 

The Doctor shook his head, trying to snap her out of it. “Whatever he told you, it’s not―“

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Donna cut in. “I _remembered._ ” 

His hearts leapt into his throat, “You― Your head! Are you―“

“Oh I fixed all that,” the Master waved a dismissive hand. “Wasn’t even difficult. You shouldn’t let your pets run loose, you know. Anyone could have found her. Lucky I happened to be in the area.” He reached over and smoothed her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Even luckier that I had some spare regeneration energy tucked away for a rainy day."

The Doctor’s stomach twisted as the words registered. “You―“ he turned to the Master, “What did you do?!”

The Master gave him a coquettish frown. “I cleaned up your mess. You can’t just litter half-baked Time Lords around 21st Century London. That’s how you get ants.” 

Donna gave him an annoyed look out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t stop him from brushing her hair back. 

“Can we wrap this up?” she suggested. 

The Master leaned in and whispered something in her ear. 

“Fine,” she said, “But hurry it up.”

“Do you know, that sounds suspiciously like you ordering me around,” he said casually, moving his hand from her shoulder to her neck. 

Donna snapped her head just slightly enough to the side to glare at him. “That feels suspiciously like you wanting to try this on your own. Go on, let's see how far that gets you!” 

After a moment he let go, moving back. 

The Doctor watched the scene in increasing confusion. “What…?”

The Master smiled, crocodilian. “Ah, yes. Have you caught up yet? Or will you be needing a picture book?” 

Donna flipped her hair back and the Doctor realized that the muzzled signals he'd interpreted as a neural net were, in fact, shuttered echoes of not one Time Lord, but two.

“Donna,” the Doctor breathed, “you’re…?” 

“One of us,” the Master declared, grinning. 

The Doctor stared, horrified. His higher senses filled in the gaps. Time arched through Donna as easily as the Master, as easily as any Time Lord, circling in great magnetic waves. 

“Ahhh,” the Master purred, “There we are.” 

The Doctor couldn’t take his eyes off Donna, who wavered in his vision, her human form nothing more than a shell, held on the brink of collapse under the weight of the universe. 

She looked back at him with nothing but scorn. 

“Satisfied?” she asked.

He couldn’t draw in the air to answer, but it was just as well. She hadn’t been talking to him. 

“Never,” the Master laughed, “But I am ready for Stage Two.” 

He pulled out a device that looked like a modified vortex manipulator and pressed it to one of the rings circling the containment field. With a bone-crunching lurch, it yanked the Doctor through the vortex, completely unprotected. 


	2. Gravitational Capture

They landed next to the TARDIS. The Master brushed imaginary lint off his jacket while the Doctor nearly crashed to his knees from the impact. Donna appeared a moment later and the Master caught her with one hand when she stumbled. 

“A little warning might have been nice!” she snapped, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her from falling off the face of the planet. 

The Master straightened her collar and smoothed her hair back. “It’s a rather simple plan. Do I really need to announce each step?” 

When she turned to yell at him, she caught her first glimpse of the TARDIS over his shoulder and became immediately more interested in getting her feet back under herself. She headed straight to the familiar blue box, where she just stopped, stroking the paneling in a way that made the Doctor’s hearts ache. 

She whispered something and the doors clicked open. 

The Master waited twenty-six seconds and before clearing his throat exaggeratedly, gesturing up. When the Doctor tilted his head back, he jumped forward, deactivating the field just before clapping a metal collar around his neck. 

“Bit more travel-friendly, don’t you think?” he asked. 

“What!?” The Doctor’s hands raised automatically, but the second he touched it, it flared white hot and sent an electric jolt straight down his spinal column. He fell to his knees with a strangled shout. 

“Now, now,” the Master said casually, “You wouldn’t be so rude as to try to take it off. I went through so much trouble to get it for you. Custom-made, you know.”

The Doctor jumped back to his feet. “Why did you bring her?”

The Master rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I needed a pilot.” 

The Doctor’s eyes snapped to the open TARDIS doors. He dashed inside, bracing for the shock, but nothing prepared him to enter unimpeded and find Donna standing next to the central column, face tilted up and smiling.

He stumbled to a stop, but she didn’t even turn. Her eyes were closed and she had the look of someone who’d been trapped underground and had just taken her first step out into warm sunshine. 

“Careful now,” the Master’s over-sweetened voice intruded sharply, “You wouldn’t want me to feel like a third wheel.” 

Donna just leaned her head back further, stretching luxuriously. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she sighed.

The Doctor tried to ask the TARDIS what she was talking about, but the thought ricocheted off the collar, searing down his spine and driving him to his knees with a surprised shout. 

Donna turned, startled, “What the―? What did you do?” 

The Master chuckled, coming around behind him and tracing a cool hand over his shoulder. “Just took a little precaution.” He looked down at the Doctor and pulled an exaggeratedly sad face. “We can’t have you overriding the pilot now can we?” 

The Doctor suddenly became aware of a great gaping void in the back of his consciousness where the TARDIS usually hummed. He reached instinctively for that connection and doubled over with the resulting shock. The grating dug into his hands, but he couldn’t hear her singing.

He’d cut the connection. 

“Why?!” he gasped, choking on the aftershocks. 

“Well she won’t listen to me,” the Master said primly. “Not after that unfortunate business with the paradox engine… But an old companion? I bet you left all sorts of settings open; knowing a human could never access them.” 

Donna hummed, and the Doctor wrenched his head up to find her circling the console, navigating the controls easily. 

“Donna,” he tried, “Why?”

Several expressions flickered across her face, too quickly for him to register. “I begged you not to send me back,” she said quietly. “I told you I wanted to stay.” She set them on course to the vortex and stepped back, crossing her arms. “You set me back to nothing.” 

“Really, Doctor,” the Master crooned patronizingly, “And you call me cruel.”

“But I found my way back,” she continued, “And I’m not asking again― I’m staying this time.” 

The Doctor pushed himself back to his feet and Donna straightened. 

“I’m going to my room,” she announced, and then turned to the Master, “You remember what we discussed?”

“Yes, I believe the phrase ‘nothing excessive’ might ring a bell,” he slid his hand over the Doctor’s shoulder, now slightly higher than his own. 

“That wasn’t the phrase I used,” Donna corrected, “And the TARDIS will tell me.” 

“Yes, yes,” the Master said airily, “Go on, off to bed.” He turned to the Doctor, “This is what you get for making mongrels. She still can’t quite get out of the habit of sleeping every day.” 

The Doctor opened his mouth, but Donna turned and headed down the corridor before he could decide what to say.

“Now then,” the Master said, sliding his hand up and over the back of his neck, “How shall we pass the time?”


	3. Loss of Contact

Donna reappeared 8 hours, 46 minutes, and 23 seconds later. She stalked into the galley, where the Master was cheerily regaling the Doctor with tales of his latest encounter with UNIT, using raw eggs for dramatic effect. He’d fashioned a makeshift gag out of the Doctor’s tie and had his hands tied to the countertop. 

“Could you crack two of those in a skillet and find a way to work toast into whatever terrible thing you’re recounting?” Donna suggested, taking a wide path around the yolky mess to look for the kettle. 

The Doctor perked up hopefully, but she didn’t so much as look his way.

The Master smirked. “You know, now that you mention it, there was one time at a hospital, where I found the most delightfully flammable―“

“Never mind the toast,” Donna said, holding out a skillet. 

He cracked six eggs into it. 

She started the kettle and turned around. “I said two.”

“Yes, well, while you’re at it, we wouldn’t want our guest to go hungry, would you? Or is it our host?” He made a show of considering. 

Donna just grabbed the skillet and tossed in an assortment of seasonings. “Only to keep you from getting the rest of this all over the counter. You’re cleaning that up, by the way.” 

“You expect me to believe this ship can traverse time and space, but can’t handle a quick spritz for the galley between uses?” He leaned back and tossed a dash of paprika into the mix. 

Donna smacked his hand away. “I believe the deal was _I_ get the TARDIS, _you_ get the Doctor.” 

The Master gestured toward him. “Would you like to trade for cleanup?” 

“No,” she enunciated clearly. 

The Doctor stared at her back while the Master pulled an embarrassed face. “Oooh, Doctor. Not even worth an hour-long trade.” He sucked air in through his teeth. 

“You remember the rest of our deal?” Donna asked. 

The Master sighed and waved his hand. “Yes, yes,” he smiled at the Doctor’s look and pressed a finger to his lips. “The _secret_ deal,” he stage-whispered. 

Donna clunked a plateful of eggs down in front of him and shoved one in the general direction of the Doctor. 

She paused and then reached over to untie his hands. 

The Doctor immediately jerked the gag loose. “Donna!” he exclaimed, catching her hand before she could pull away. “Where have you been? Are you all right?”

Donna jerked back, breaking the contact like she’d been shocked. “What the hell?”

“Minor side effect of the inhibiting collar.” The Master waved his hand vaguely. “He seems to be having trouble maintaining his telepathic shielding.” At the Doctor’s confused look, he held a hand over his mouth and added, “You’re projecting in front of our new friend,” in a tone more appropriate for telling someone they had mustard on their face. 

The Doctor hurriedly tried to shore up his mental defenses, but it was nearly impossible to tell whether he was successful. 

Donna shook out her hand and moved it out of reach. “Is there a xallarap disrupter on board? The TARDIS is having trouble locating one.” She wouldn't quite look at him.

“What do you need one of those for?” the Doctor asked. “They’re only useful for―“ 

“Do you have one?” Donna asked again, louder.

“As I was saying,” the Doctor continued, “They’re not very practical. There’s a parallax disperser in Storeroom 35-RB― those are much more stable.” 

Donna shook her head. “No, it’s not a ruse,” she said.

The Master turned and gave her a judgmentally inquisitive look. “Is that human brain of yours trying to rattle its way back to life? You seem to be glitching.” 

“It’s a code,” she said impatiently. “There’s no storeroom 35-RB.” 

The Master slanted his eyes at the Doctor. “Is that so…” 

“I need an actual storeroom location for the xallarap disrupter,” she reiterated in the general direction of the Doctor. 

“Can’t think of any reason why I’d tell you,” the Doctor said mildly. 

“Good. So there’s one on board. I’ll work it out myself.” She turned back to the Master, “This could take awhile.” 

He had a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.” 

“I could show you,” the Doctor offered. “Could even help with whatever you’re working on.” 

“I’m going to eat in my room,” Donna announced, and then flounced out.

“You know, I think she might still be mad at you about the whole abandoning-her-to-die-as-a-useless-human thing,” the Master mused, delicately swiveling eggs on the end of his fork. 


	4. Instability

After three days, the Master decided it was too much trouble to keep the Doctor tied up all the time, and set up loops in the TARDIS interface instead. He propped up in a modern room cast in sharp white lines and amused himself for several hours, as the Doctor tried every configuration he could think of and always ended up right back in the large white room. 

“Tired yourself out yet?” the Master asked idly, when the 44th loop landed the Doctor right back in the lounge. 

“What have you done with Donna?” the Doctor demanded, feeling his way along the empty shelves. 

The Master scoffed, “I haven’t done _anything_ with your old pet. She’s off doing whatever it is that she does with her time. Chewing on things, scratching, whatever it is that formerly-human females get up to.” 

The Doctor glared. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Whatever makes you think _I_ brought _her_?” he asked, swirling something dark in a wine glass, purely for effect. He hadn’t taken a sip in over an hour. “Are all your pets this obsessed with you? Is that why you keep them? Little walking ego boosts for you to stroke when you get lonely?” 

“She’s not a pet!” the Doctor snapped. 

“Well, not anymore,” the Master said casually. “Too clever for it, clearly. I’ll bet it never even _occurred_ to the others that they could learn to walk themselves. This one though― she'd chewed her way through the leash long before I came across her.”

The Doctor paused. “What did you do?” 

“Hmm?”

“What did you do to Donna?” the Doctor repeated. “Is she stable? Have you checked?”

The Master frowned at him. “Well, it’s been fine for forty-six years. I don’t see why she’d suddenly unravel now.” 

The Doctor balked. “Forty-six years?!”

“Oh my,” the Master looked him up and down. “That collar really is scrambling all your receptors isn’t it? Perhaps I should have added a handicapped setting. Ah, well, lessons learned.” 

“Forty-six years?!” the Doctor repeated, louder. “You’ve had Donna for forty-six years?”

“More or less,” the Master said vaguely. 

The Doctor shoved onto the uncomfortable couch next to him. “What does that mean?” 

The Master swirled his glass lazily. “Well, I put the finishing touches on your little science experiment forty-six years ago in her timeline. She was a bit ungrateful about it, so I skipped forward a few decades to let her gain some perspective.” He pressed the nail of one thumb against his lower lip. “She was much more… amenable after that.” 

The Doctor stared at him, horrified. “You just… left her?” 

The Master looked back at him evenly. “That’s a strange tone for _you_ to take. I didn’t time lock her. She was just as available for visits as ever. So strange that she didn’t mention any.”

He jumped back up. “I need to― Let me out of here!” 

The Master scoffed, “You think _I’m_ the one keeping you away from her? It’s _her_ ship. _She’s_ got the primary link.” He pulled the edges of his mouth down, feigning sympathy. “You know how pets get when you go on vacation without them.”

The Doctor spent another hour running through loops. On his 62nd return to the lounge, he decided to adjust his approach. 

“Could _you_ find her?” he asked. 

The Master made a show of looking around like he thought he might be speaking to someone else. “Oh, are you addressing me? That’s strange, I didn’t hear my name.” 

“Master,” he gritted out, “Could you find Donna?” 

“Hmmm?”

“Please,” he added. 

“You know, I imagine I could,” the Master said slowly, like it hadn’t occurred to him. 

“ _Would_ you?” 

He looked up, cocking his head. “Would I what?” 

The Doctor took a deep breath. “Would you _please_ find Donna for me?” 

He put down the glass and propped his chin on one hand, considering. “What exactly would I get out of that, I wonder? _I’ve_ spent plenty of time with her. More than enough, really. The word ‘shrill’ comes to mind. Another word― 'bitey.'” He leaned back, stretching one arm over the back of the couch. “Perhaps if I had a clearer head, I might feel more inclined to entertain company.” 

He tilted his chin up ever-so-slightly.

The Doctor gestured to the collar. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m having a bit of trouble with certain key functions at the moment.” 

The Master tilted his head further. “Funny, that sounds distinctly like a ‘you’ problem.” 

The Doctor hesitated, but the walls remained as unhelpfully solid as they’d been for several hours. He reluctantly approached the couch and perched himself just within reach. 

The Master watched him through slitted eyes, like a crocodile. 

He shifted closer, bending one knee under himself to make up for the height difference. “…Well?”

The Master regarded him evenly, a portrait of relaxed indifference. “Well, what?” 

He gestured to the collar again, “I can’t exactly initiate anything, can I?” 

“Poor Doctor. Performance issues? At your age?” he tutted. 

The Doctor clenched his teeth together until his jaw went slightly numb. “Get on with it.” 

“Hmmm?”

“Please,” he added.

The Master smiled. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He touched two fingers to the edge of the collar, following the curve to his jugular. He pressed his thumb to the metal alloy, just hard enough to restrict airflow, and the pressure in the back of the Doctor’s mind eased off suddenly, letting the faintest trails of sensation through.

“Ohhh,” he breathed, “That’s… better…” 

The Master’s presence loomed dark and prickling at the edge of his awareness, filling the gaping void meant for so many. And just beyond, at the very edge of his perception, something bright and bold glimmered in the distance… the DoctorDonna. 

He curled forward, drawn inexorably to the nearest point of contact, as automatically as sunflowers turned toward light. The Master made no move to halt or help him, only tilting his head slightly as his fingers caught his temples. 

His mind was as dangerously unstable as ever, folding in on itself and fragmented through eleven dimensions. But even the sharp, searing disequilibrium was better than the aching, lonely void.

The Master’s hands came up in mirror image, and the floodgates opened both ways. He streamed into the Doctor’s mind, as carelessly invasive as wildfire. 

The glittering presence at the back of his mind flickered brighter, as though drawn by the exchange. 

“Okay, what is so― Oh!” A startled squeak intruded from a distant plane and suddenly the flames subsided, withdrawing entirely, leaving him empty and hollowed out. 

He blinked his eyes open to catch the Master’s smirk as he turned. “Why hello. Come to join us?” 

“What? No!” Donna’s indignant voice cut in, and the Doctor whipped around. “You’ve been calling me for nearly an hour! You’re giving me a headache!”

“Donna!” the Doctor said, or tried to. His voice came out hoarse and strange― too long without oxygen. He pulled in air and tried again, “You’re here!” He hopped up, stumbling slightly. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Master corrected, catching his wrist in a vice-like grip. He raised his other hand, curling two fingers in and the Doctor reluctantly bent down. He tapped the collar and the disruptors re-engaged with a jolt. 

After a deliberate pause, his other hand disengaged. 

The Doctor spun around to find Donna hovering by the doorway, scowling. “Hello!” He bounded over. “Are you all right? How’s your head? Here, let me see―” 

She backed away like someone with dog allergies being greeted by an overly rambunctious stray. “What? Get off! What do you think this is, a slumber party?” She craned around to glare at the Master. “Why did you call me in here?” 

The Doctor blinked. “I missed you!” 

The Master gestured vaguely in his direction. “Someone kept rudely accusing me of doing all kinds of horrible things to you. Terribly dull after the first hundred times. Be a dear and tell him you’re not dead and maybe throw in something about being here of your own volition if it’s not too much trouble.” 

The Doctor moved closer while he was talking, trying to work out whether he could see a bruise forming under the edge of her sleeve. 

She smacked him away before he could check, narrowing her eyes at the Master. “ _Obviously_ I'm not dead and _obviously_ you don't need me to tell him that! Do I need to up the security protocols to emergency contact only?” 

The Master laughed, crossing his wrists neatly. “It’s your own fault for being such a delight to be around. Look at you, you’re magnetic.” 

“I’ll try to work on that!” she snapped, sidestepping the Doctor’s attempt to check her pulse. “Now if that’s everything, I’m going to go back to living my life and you two can go back to doing… whatever.”

The Master chuckled a little more genuinely. “You know exactly what we were doing. And you’re more than welcome to―“

“Not happening!” she cut him off, giving the Doctor a strange sideways glance. She reached behind herself and a panel opened, revealing familiar corridors. “Don’t call me again! And put your shields up!” She stepped through and slammed it closed. 

The Doctor blinked at the panel, devoid of so much as a crease. 

“There now,” the Master chimed in from the couch, “Clearly still alive and just as charming as ever. Now that that’s settled, what would you like to obsess over for the next several hours?”

The Doctor resumed prodding the walls. 

“Excellent choice.” The Master picked up his prop glass, taking another sip. 


	5. Cataclysmic Variables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No frogs were harmed in the writing of this chapter.

On the fifth day, the Master decided to start touring the more exotic rooms. He particularly enjoyed the rainforest room, where he could find all types of creepy crawlies. He had a nice long line of bullet ants marching down the Doctor’s arm and was looking for a spider when the Doctor startled in his peripheral vision. 

A brightly colored poison dart frog had hopped onto his arm and snapped up two of the ants. 

“Making a new friend are we?” The Master circled back, trying to assess the toxicity level by the coloration. Bright gold― that seemed promising. 

The Doctor caught the frog in one hand, cupping it loosely. “It’s just after the ants,” he said.

The Master recognized the protective look and couldn’t quite resist. “I gave you those ants for safe keeping,” he said. “One might think that would include protecting them from vicious predators.” He bent down and caught the Doctor’s wrist before he could pull it back, holding it higher. “Let’s see the culprit then.” 

The Doctor kept his hand closed. “It’s just a frog.” 

The Master smirked and wrapped his own hands around the Doctor’s. “Exactly,” he said sweetly, and then abruptly tightened his grip, forcing the Doctor’s fist closed. There was a satisfyingly wet crunch, punctuated by a little yelp from the Doctor. 

The artificial light in the room flashed bright red and thirty-eight seconds later, Donna crashed in from the hall. 

“What the hell are you doing?” she barked at the Master. 

The Master seemed wholly unconcerned, looking up toward the false ceiling. “Just testing the sensors. Awfully sensitive, aren’t they? Can’t even tell the difference between a Time Lord and a frog.” 

She moved toward them, but the Master stood up and stepped back before she could make contact, flitting a few steps away. 

Donna looked the Doctor over, pausing at his hand, still loosely cupped. Something was dripping between his knuckles. 

She hesitated and then bent down and brusquely swept the remaining ants off his arm. Her skin was cool to the touch, lacking the familiar human warmth. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked, and he flinched, but she was talking to the Master.

“That’s a strange question to direct to the one of us who _isn’t_ holding a crushed frog,” the Master said loftily. 

She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and pushed it into the Doctor’s unoccupied hand. “Nothing physical,” she snapped at the Master, “What does this look like?” 

The Master shrugged. “Lennie Small, ‘Of Mice and Men?’” 

The Doctor carefully turned his palm over, using the handkerchief to catch the small body and tucking it closed. Donna passed him another, smaller cloth without looking and he used it to wipe his hand as best he could. One of the tiny bones seemed to have pierced the skin. He prodded the small scratch and his vision swam. 

“Donna,” he tried to get her attention. 

She was still griping at the Master, “You’re sick. This is sick. What are you even getting out of this? It’s just―“

“Donna,” the Doctor called, louder, “I think―“

She barreled ahead, picking up steam. “Do I really need to make a list of all the disgusting urges you should fight off? Killing small animals would be right near the top!” 

The Doctor passed out at her feet. 

* * *

The Doctor came to in the medbay. He blinked up at the ceiling and tried to run a quick diagnostic. The collar’s warning shock reminded him immediately of his circumstances. 

A cool hand pressed him back down by the clavicle and he jumped, jerking his head to the side to find Donna fishing in a nearby drawer. 

“Donna!” he exclaimed, and then tried to clear his suddenly scratchy throat, “What―“ he coughed. 

The hand on his collar slipped behind his neck, propping him up and something nudged his mouth. He shied away, having had a few too many unpleasant tastes in recent days.

She shifted her grip to prop him against her arm and held the glass higher. “It’s water,” she said, taking a sip herself. 

He took the straw on the second offer, swiping his tongue where her mouth had been. No traces of drugs or foreign substances. Nothing out of the ordinary… aside from the faint traces of Time Lord DNA. 

He took a few sips and then leaned back, looking around. “Where is he?”

She pulled her arm back briskly and returned to rummaging in a drawer. “Sulking somewhere,” she said, pulling out a swab and two vials of liquid. 

He jerked upright, ignoring the way his head spun. “Donna, are you all right? Has he done something to you? Do you need me to―“

She cut him off with a strange barking laugh. “Right, I forgot. The only way dim old Donna would possibly find her way back is if a different alien was orchestrating the whole thing. _Must_ be one of you two. The rest of us are just shadow puppets.” 

“What? No, of course you’re not― Are you all right?” He tried to reach for her hand, but she snatched it back. 

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Better than ever! No thanks to you.”

He sat up further, trying to focus. “I never meant for this to happen to you. I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

She laughed again. “ _That’s_ what you’re sorry about? Sorry I’m alive and whole instead of trapped in purgatory where you left me?” 

He looked up at her and every crack in her human facade stung the backs of his eyes. “I couldn’t watch you die.” 

She glared back, fury and hurt bleeding through the crevices. “It wasn’t your choice to make. I _told_ you I wanted to stay.” 

He shook his head. “There was no other way.”

“Clearly, there was!” She slapped a roll of bandages down next to the cot. “But since you’re so dedicated to living in your own little world where everything is down to you and none of the rest of us are worth more than the paper we’re printed on, you can finish this up on your own!” 

He caught her wrist, feeling the double pulse hammer against his fingertips. “Donna, I’m so―“ 

“Don't!” She wrenched herself free. “I’m going back to my room.” 

She flounced out into the hallway and snapped, “Keep him away from me!” 

The Master appeared in the doorway, smirking. “Tell me, have you had to work at making yourself personally offensive to everyone or is it just raw, natural talent?”

The Doctor let his head drop back with an unpleasant thunk. 

The Master sauntered over and picked up his injured hand. “Don’t worry, I probably won’t get bored of you.” He swiped his tongue over the wound. “Has a bit of a zip, doesn’t it?” 


	6. Three-Body Problem

There was no sign of Donna for three days. Eventually, the Master declared it was time for a kip. It was, in fact, well over the healthy span between rests, but the Doctor wasn’t inclined to argue that particular point at the moment. Staggering slightly, he followed the Master down the corridor until he selected a door. 

He gestured for the Doctor to open it, and he did that too, too tired to comment. 

Donna’s room appeared on the other side, with the faint sound of breathing emanating from the bed. 

The Doctor started to back out, but the Master pushed him through the threshold, holding a finger up to his lips. He herded the Doctor over to the bed where Donna was lying dead to the world, crammed onto one side. 

“What?” the Master mouthed, toeing off his shoes and pulling off his jacket. 

He arched an imperious eyebrow when the Doctor failed to follow suit, and moved like he might do it for him so the Doctor quickly shucked his outer layer. 

The Master gestured for him to get in the bed and he hesitated, but there was another warning look, like the Master might decide to play a very different game instead, and he gingerly lay down on his back. 

The Master slid in on his other side, as casually as their academy days, and reached a hand up. Cool fingers connected with his temple and the world dropped off. 

* * *

The Doctor woke slowly to a faceful of red hair and cool hands curled against his chest. In the next heartsbeat, he was in motion, being shoved back into the cool body behind him. 

“Wh―“ he cleared his throat, “Donna, what―?”

“Why are you in my bed?!” she demanded, scrambling to her feet. 

The Master grumbled, rubbing his chest where the Doctor’s shoulder blades had jabbed into him. “I should think the answer to that would be obvious,” he said. “We were sleeping. You’ll note the past tense there. Feel free to take it as a judgment on your bedside manner.” 

“You have your own bed!” Donna snapped.

The Master dropped his head onto the pillow, like he might go back to sleep if the conversation could just hurry itself up. “ _I_ don’t. _Someone_ forgot to make me one.” 

“So use his!” She shoved on a dressing gown, cinching it shut. 

“Ah...” The Doctor realized he was still just lying there and started to sit up, but the Master snaked his arm tight around his waist, holding him down. 

“Is this _not_ his room?” he asked, looking around the feminine space decorated in violet and gold. “How odd. I suppose your ship got confused. Perhaps if I had more direct access to the interface…”

“No!” Donna barked, “Get out of here!” 

“Right...” The Doctor tried to get up again, but the Master hooked his chin over his shoulder, digging in. 

“I don’t see why you’re being so difficult. Here I am following rules, offering to share my toys, and you’re being quite rude about it.”

Donna sucked in a breath and held it for ten seconds. “What do you want?” 

The Master hummed thoughtfully. “You know I hadn’t thought about it, but off the top of my head, a trip to Gafta Minor would be lovely.” 

The Doctor perked up at the mention of a trip.

“Fine,” Donna said, “but I’m staying in the TARDIS and so is he.” The Doctor wasn’t quite sure whether that was better or worse.

The Master sat up, allowing the Doctor to get himself upright. “Why would I leave my things unsupervised?”

Donna shrugged. “Why would I let you out among people without collateral?” 

He crossed his wrists neatly over his knees. “What would keep you from just swanning off with _both_ halves of _our_ deal?” 

“Aside from the fact that we’re both going to live a very long time and it might be helpful if we could trust each other at some point?” 

He scoffed and didn’t even dignify that with a reply. 

“I’d let you take a key TARDIS component with you,” she said. “Nothing that could be used as a weapon!” she added quickly. 

The Master got to his feet, “I’d pick the part. I know perfectly well which ones are interchangeable.” 

Donna shrugged. “Fine. I’ll disable it before you go and re-enable it when you get back. How long do you want?” 

“A day should do it. Two at most.” 

“Fine.” She put out a hand. 

He eyed it. “What are you getting out of this?” 

She gave him a level-eyed look. “I’ll give you a shopping list.” 

He put his hand out and shook hers, once. “This had better not be a trick,” he said mildly. 

“It’s your idea,” she pointed out. “That’d be some trick.” 

He narrowed his eyes, but then seemed to forget all about it, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I knew you’d be fun.”

She smiled sweetly. “Get the hell out of my room.” 


	7. Accretion

The Master headed out for his day trip with a spring in his step and a disabled dimensional regulator in his pocket. Donna immediately got back to her modifications, fully intending to use all 24 hours with the parked TARDIS to their fullest potential. 

Three hours later, the Doctor had yet to appear and she felt a niggling concern at the back of her mind. She ignored it for another two hours and then sighed and put down the welding torch. 

“Fine,” she said, “Where is he?” 

The TARDIS eagerly guided her down the hall to a strange room she’d never seen before. It looked like a veterinary office. The Doctor was crammed into some sort of crate in the corner, cuffed wrist and ankle to the metal corners. 

“Donna!” he greeted her cheerily. “Oh, good! I was starting to think I’d gotten the messaging confused. Terribly inconvenient trying to relay questions without the mental link. Think I spent the first hour in High Silurian by accident.”

Donna hesitated in the doorway, debating just pretending she hadn’t come by, but she couldn’t quite manage it. She stepped in, snatched the keys off a nearby table and started with his left wrist, which he helpfully pressed into the spaces between bars. 

“Thank you,” he said, once both hands were freed. 

She moved to his ankles and then picked up the combination lock on the door. 

“It’s 12-05-68,” he said. 

She gave him a strange look. “You told him my birthdate?” 

The Doctor looked embarrassed for the first time since she’d come in. “Sorry, I’m having a little trouble with my mental shielding. Bit like trying to put up blackout curtains while blindfolded, you know.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. 

She entered the combination and unlocked the cage, stepping back and trying not to watch as he clamored out like an ungainly spider. 

He hopped up immediately, giving himself a quick shake and stretching. “Thanks!” He grinned at her, like that was a completely normal exchange. 

She squinted at him. “Why do you let him do these things? Surely you’ve figured out he can’t hurt you.” 

“Oh,” he blew out a puff of air. “It’s just something he does. Suppose it doesn’t seem worth the energy to act surprised after the first few centuries.” He rotated his shoulders into a shrug. “It’s just a body.” 

Donna’s mouth shut with an audible click. She then turned and left the room. 

The Doctor followed along, ignoring the way she picked up her pace. “So these upgrades or repairs or whatever you’re working on― anything I can help with?” 

“No,” she said, and stepped through a door seemingly at random, slamming it closed behind her. 

When he opened it, there was nothing there; just a closet with a gumball machine.

* * *

It took him four hours to convince the TARDIS to stop looping him through the medbay and show him an old workroom. 

“That’s impressive!” he said when he finally found his way through. “Must have taken quite a bit of reconfiguring not to use any previous workarounds.” 

Donna startled, dropping something with a clatter. “Don’t you have something better to do with your first full day of freedom? You’re not locked out of anything but the system settings.” 

“Nah,” he said, settling on the nearby bench, “What could be more important than catching up? We haven’t had a chance yet.”

Donna glared, sweeping an armful of components off into a subspace pocket before he could get a good look at them. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Right, right, the whole you-hate-me-now thing,” he said. “But plenty of people hate me and don’t decide to live with me. That puts you in a rather unique class. A sort of elite, reverse fan-club, if you will.” He grinned.

She dragged over a different crate and started digging around in it, getting in up to her shoulders. “I’m just here for the TARDIS.”

“Course. Course you are. Only… that doesn’t quite explain why you wouldn’t let the Master take me on his little outing…?”

She glared disbelievingly. “Did you _want_ to go with him?” 

“Oh, no!” he said emphatically, “No. He behaves much worse with an audience. You might have noticed.” 

She pulled out an assortment of parts, arranged them on the table, and jerked a scanner around, angling the monitor between them. “There are people out there. He’d torture them just to get a rise out of you. I might not be human anymore, but I’m not a psychopath.” 

He grinned. “Donna Noble, look at you, still caring after― actually, how long has it been?” 

There was a slight pause before she replied, “Forty-six years with memory; three without.”

The grin fell off his face. “He wasn’t lying?”

She gave him a cool look just past the monitor. “Apparently not.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, all too aware of the meaninglessness of it. 

She angled the screen, pulled up a keypad, and started running what seemed to be diagnostics. The controls flickered between Gallifreyan and English, making it impossible to follow. 

There was a long, awkward silence as she seemed to do her damndest to try and forget he even existed. She was more than a little convincing.

“So,” he started, trying to remember the last time he’d had to make any effort to initiate small talk with her, “How are you finding the new senses?” He grimaced as he asked, wondering how awkward he was going to get. 

For a long moment, it seemed she was just going to pretend not to have heard him. She continued clicking away. 

Just as he was debating trying again, she muttered, “The different dimensional overlays took awhile to get used to.”

He perked up, shifting through his own views automatically. Donna loomed larger than her frame, twisted through planes. “Yeah, they’d― hang on―“ He flicked back. “You’re, uh, slightly contorted through the ninth. Isn’t that giving you a headache?” 

She gave him a disbelieving look, like that was the dumbest question he could possibly ask her. “I always have a headache,” she grumbled. 

“Oh, I could help with that!” he said, too excitedly based on her increased glare. “Or rather, I could tell you how to fix it― here―“ he leaned forward, gesturing toward his head, “it’s easier if I just show you.” 

She jerked back, looking at him like he'd just casually taken his trousers off. “What?” 

He cleared his throat, “Well, I can’t, uh, I can’t form the link, but if you make the connection I can visualize for you. Clear as anything. I’ll focus.” 

“I’m not going to―“ She crossed her arms, clamping her own hands down. “I still have access to your memories. Just tell me where to look.” 

He shook his head. “It’s not really a memory, it’s more of an autonomic reflex― listen, it’s easier to just show you. You know how to connect, right? There’d be plenty of memories on the basics.” 

“Of course I know how,” she snapped. “You think that impatient lunatic explains things with powerpoint presentations and puppet shows?”

The Doctor shuddered, shying away from the implications imbedded in that. “Right…” He scratched a hand over the back of his head, gripping just a little too tightly. “Alternatively, I could, um, talk you through the concepts of shielding. If you’d like.” 

He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes. 

After another long pause, she huffed out a sigh. “No need. He doesn’t like poking around in my head. Can’t seem to get anything out of it, not even the bits that are your memories. Says it’s all ‘cluttered up with human nonsense’ or whatever.” She snickered, just a little. “I think it makes him motion sick.” 

The Doctor barked out a laugh and then remembered himself. “Good. That’s… good.” His hand cramped, and he remembered to stop gripping the back of his head so tightly. “So…” He scratched more lightly. “The, um, the ninth dimension is… Well, it’s… Sort of in the spaces between thoughts? No, that’s not quite… Blimey, this is complicated…” He flicked a glance up to find Donna watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. “It’s… okay… It’s sort of the feeling around a thought…?”

Her expression became more clearly judgmental. “Were all Time Lords idiots or is it just that you two were too stupid to die?” 

He twisted his mouth into something like a smile. “Well, you don’t seem to have lost any IQ points, so it’s probably not a hardware issue.” 

She snorted, but didn’t get up and leave. He realized this was the longest interaction they’d had since her return.

“If you were willing, I really could call this up in a way that would help. All surface level. You’d control the connection― I couldn’t― Not that I’d normally…” He refocused, “It really would be easier.”

He glanced up to find her looking like she’d swallowed something that was trying to crawl its way back up. 

“It doesn’t seem… right… with you all…” she tilted her head in a vague circle. 

He perked up, leaning in. “Oh, no, I’m fine with it. Sort of like playing a record while I have earplugs in. Feels a bit fumbly, but that’s all. I can still set it up for you.”

She eyed him skeptically. “But you can’t― there’s nothing to keep me on the surface level.”

He shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Not much I’d bother to lock up at this point anyway. Nothing you haven't seen before.” 

She glared at him a little longer, but unlocked her arms, and he knew he’d won her over.

“Here,” he hopped up and came around to her side, ducking under the overhanging cabinet, and hooking one leg over the workbench to straddle it, facing her. 

She clicked off the monitor and turned toward him, still looking like she might bolt at the slightest provocation. 

The Doctor focused on looking harmless and friendly, bending forward slightly so she wouldn’t have to reach. 

Donna looked at him, still scowling faintly. “Are you _sure_?”

He grinned. “Absolutely.”

She brought her hands up slowly, and he realized he was holding his breath. Two cool fingers stroked the hair at his temples and he closed his eyes, focusing intently on the constructs of the ninth dimension. 

After a moment, she pulled back, concentrating, and a moment later she made a soft little sound and all the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. A quick shift in perspective showed her looking much less knotted. 

“Oh, that’s…” she sighed, stretching through planes, “That’s much better…”

He realized he was staring and straightened up. “You see, I told you it was easier.”

She blinked her eyes wide, like someone regaining sensation in a previously lost limb. “…That’s _much_ better…” 

He patted her hand lightly, and for once she didn’t move away.


	8. Mass Transfer

Several minutes passed without Donna shoving him away or stalking off, and the Doctor began to feel cautiously optimistic and, immediately, slightly daring. 

“Anything else I can help with?” he asked.

She made a vague inquiring noise, still not entirely focused.

“I could help with whatever modifications you’re working on,” he tried. 

“No,” she said immediately. 

“Right. No,” he pulled his hands back to himself. “Course not.” 

There was a pause, in which he imagined she was deciding whether to shove him off the bench or just get up and leave herself. 

“Actually...” She gave him a strange, furtive look. “I could use… practice with something.”

He immediately edged closer. “Oh? Something I can help with?” 

She paused and then nodded haltingly. “But it’s― it’s a mental thing, so I couldn’t tell you without messing it up. I’d need to just… try it…”

“Okay.” 

She frowned. “You don’t have any questions? It’s― I don’t think it’d hurt, but it’s… not a nice thing.” She grimaced slightly. 

He shrugged. “I’m not exactly booked up with other, better things to do.” 

She waited, not moving. 

“Donna,” he said firmly, “I’d like to help.” 

She swung a leg over the bench to face him. Curious, he shifted forward until their knees overlapped. 

In fits and starts, she raised her hands toward his temples, leaving plenty of time for him to move away. He bent closer instead, letting her in. 

For a long moment, nothing much seemed to happen. It was a strange feeling; like knowing she was going through his pockets, but being unable to see or feel any indication of what she might be finding. 

“Could you―“ she started, and he jumped slightly. A faint line formed between her brows and she carefully disengaged, still hovering near his head. “Could you try to keep me out of something? Your memories of me, for example.” 

“I can _try_ ,” he said. No need to explain that he’d have no way of verifying the results. 

He built up the barriers in his mind, trying to fence in everything, defaulting back to an old trick from the academy. “Okay,” he muttered, “Think I’ve got it.” 

Her fingers reconnected. After a few moments she said, “That’s perfect,” and rubbed her fingers in light little circles, probably not even realizing she was doing it. 

It was nice. He wondered a little at the sensation, trying to remember the last time she’d said anything remotely positive to him. He suspected it was before the crucible. 

“It’s an old trick,” he explained, just to fill the air, “They teach it to children who are having trouble with the visual concepts. You imagine a room filled with trinkets, and each trinket represents a memory or a thought. You put them all together and brick up the walls. The trick is making sure there are no leaks, but you can imagine feeling for gaps, the way you would in a wall, even if you couldn’t see.” 

Donna hummed in acknowledgment, and rubbed her fingertips in little circles again. It reminded him of the way she used to rub the handle of her mugs when she first woke up; a slow, absent-minded motion that he’d found terribly endearing.

“Oops,” she said, “That one snuck through.” 

He hurriedly resealed the gap. “Well. There’s a reason they move away from this method once kids get a better grasp of the basics.” 

“Sort of like potty training,” Donna said mildly. 

He immediately tried and failed to tamp down any thoughts related to that and she snickered, “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” She lightly scratched her unoccupied fingers through his hair, absently smoothing. “Okay, that should about do it.” 

He held very still, like she might just forget their proximity for a little while longer. 

She blinked her eyes open. “You really are touch-starved, aren’t you?”

“Well,” he blustered, “You try spending as much time with humans as I have and not picking up on some of their tactility.” He tried to tamp down any recollection of which specific tactile notions came to mind, and he suspected he wasn’t entirely successful. 

“Well,” she drawled, “Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try one more thing. Since we are just sitting here…” She dropped her hands to his shoulders, one thumb just inside the collar of his shirt, making the same slow circles. 

He startled slightly at the contact, but in the next moment, she leaned in, pressing her mouth to his and he almost fell off the bench. 

They’d never (really) done this before so he didn’t have anything to compare it to, but it was _Donna_ and he’d _missed_ her. He sidled closer, daring to loop his arms around her in a loose embrace, and she didn’t shove him back or deck him or anything. 

On the contrary, she made a funny little sound and pressed closer, tilting her head and parting her lips. One of his hands brushed the ends of her hair and it was so soft and she was so close, and everything else seemed so blissfully far away. 

Just as he was deciding whether he should engage his respiratory bypass, she pulled back. 

“What’s my birthday?” 

He blinked his eyes open, found her too close to focus on, and pulled back enough to see properly. “What?” 

“My birthday,” she repeated, “When is it?” 

He squinted at her. “18 April. Is this some sort of obscure courtship ritual…?”

Her eyes flicked between his. “16 April?”

He frowned, pulling back. “No, 18 April… You used to make me read you the Aries horoscopes out of every vaguely humanoid magazine you could get your hands on… Are you all right?” 

She gave him another flickering look and then smiled a small, pleased smile, that was so familiar it made his hearts ache. “Yeah. You?” 

He tried to read her body language, but she was still slightly too close and he couldn’t quite manage to move away. “…Yeah…”

“All right then,” she said, and pulled him back in. 

He hesitated, not quite sure that was an acceptable interaction, but she tangled their legs together, brushing one bare ankle against his, and that was oddly distracting. 

He pulled her just a bit closer and she arched her back, tilting her head, and it was very easy to forget what he’d been worried about.

Donna pulled back again.  “Sorry― when did you say my birthday was?” 

He blinked at her, tried to lean back to see better, and bumped his head on the cabinet he’d forgotten about. “What?” 

“My birthday,” she repeated, rubbing the back of his head. 

He got a bit distracted as the dull impact faded, but her fingers continued massaging. 

“No, no,” she pulled back a bit and he realized he’d started to lean in again. “First my birthday, then more snogging.” 

He wondered if he’d hit his head harder than he’d thought. Either way, Donna was still looking at him expectantly so he said “12 May.” 

Her eyes flickered back and forth between his again. “You sure?” 

He pulled back again, trapping her hand between his head and the cabinet. “Of course I’m sure. 12 May. It’s always been 12 May. Are you going to make me read Taurus horoscopes again?” 

Donna smiled again, looking inexplicably pleased with herself. “We could do that,” she mused, “or…” and then her mouth was back on his mouth.

She stroked her fingers over his sideburns and he decided to worry about the details later.

* * *

The Doctor had the strangest feeling that he'd missed something. Donna sat across from him on the bench looking at him expectantly, but it took him a moment to remember why. 

"You wanted help with something," he said, like she was the one who might need reminding. 

She gave him an unreadable look, "Er. Yeah. On second thought..."

"I'd like to help!" he insisted, perhaps a bit earnestly.

Her features twisted strangely, almost guiltily, before straightening. "I know," she said, even more strangely, and then leaned forward and kissed him.

He startled, but kept himself from pulling back. Instead, he found himself tilting forward, ever-so-slightly. One hand caught in his hair, the other stroked his jaw, and they fit together so seamlessly, it was hard to remember why they hadn't done this before. 

She hopped up from the bench just as he moved his hands from his knees to hers. 

"You can help me make toast," she suggested, and offered him a hand up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I originally had this chapter and the last chapter as just one big chapter, but it was ridiculously long compared to other chapters so I split it up. While doing that, I completely failed to remember that I mentioned Donna's birthday near the beginning of the last chapter and then referenced it at the end of this chapter. For those of us without eidetic memories, it's the 12th of May.  
> Bonus Fact: I am way too lazy to work out appropriate horoscope signs so I just had IMDB tell me the actors' birthdays. Tate is the 12th of May and Tennant is the 18th of April. Hurray for lazy writing!


	9. Contact Binaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure whether the implications/references made by the Master in this chapter count as torture, abuse or noncon... so let's call this a general TW about unpleasant implications/references.

Whatever the Master had gone looking for, he seemed to have found it without incident. He breezed into the galley, whistling, and snatched some toast off the plate in front of the Doctor. 

Donna smeared some jam on her own slice, and pretended not to notice the Doctor sticking his now toast-less fingers into the jar. “Back already?” she asked.

The Master propped himself up on the Doctor’s shoulder. “I know, I know. Whatever did you do without me?” 

The Doctor hesitated in his reach for the other jar, and the Master’s brow immediately arched. “Oh, Doctor,” he chided, “With the pet?”

“Wow,” Donna said dryly, “Look at that, it’s like he’s telepathic.” She bit into her toast with an unconcerned crunch. 

The Master gave her a passing glance, draping his arm around the significantly stiffer shoulders. “My, my… Developed yourself a proper little human fetish over the years, have you? Tell me, is it the age difference or all the fur?”

The Doctor eyed him in profile, trying not to think of anything. 

Donna tossed back whatever was in her mug. “You’re welcome to check with the next human you come across,” she suggested. “In the meantime, I’ll take that dimensional regulator, and those baubles I asked for.” She put out a hand. 

He smiled. “What’s the magic word?” 

“Pretty please,” she replied, returning the smile. 

He dropped a packet into her hand. 

“Thanks ever so,” she said, and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. 

She swept out of the room without another word. 

* * *

The Doctor held very still, refusing to think about anything of consequence. He ran through three planets’ periodic tables, and was starting the fourth when the Master straightened up, breaking contact. 

“Are all humans as foolhardy as that one? Or do you purposefully select for the wildest ones available?” He moved around the counter, prodding utensils experimentally. 

“She might be… slightly more reckless than most…” the Doctor said, watching him pick up her knife and lick experimentally. 

“Still leaking pheromones,” he wrinkled his nose. “It’s like a barnyard.” He cut a look down one cheek in the direction of the Doctor. “Is that part of it? Should we stop by a zoo later? Would you like that?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “What were _you_ doing all day? Interacting exclusively with Time Lords?” 

He quirked a brow. “Implying that I need a wash or expressing your interest in ‘Eau de Rodeo?’” He sniffed his own collar. “So hard to tell in here.” He walked out, heading for the Doctor’s room. 

The TARDIS moved it closer, most likely for the Doctor’s benefit. The Doctor followed him automatically, like a jumpy shadow. 

He swept in, depositing his profits from the day in a handy subspace pocket and shrugged out of his jacket.

“You know, I think the last human I had to put up with in close quarters was that freak you brought with you. Or was it dear Lucy? Sometimes it feels like trying to name all the mice I’ve ever come across. They all just blend together into warm, fuzzy shapes.” He propped his chin in his hand, considering. “Lucy had the strangest tendencies to put her mouth on all kinds of things. You wouldn’t _believe_ ―“ 

“Must you?” the Doctor cut in, looking distinctly ill. 

“Would you prefer to hear about the freak? I suppose he was also rather orally fixated… Is that a human thing? Or is it all less-evolved mammals from Level 5 planets?” He made a show of thinking that over. “Shall we pick up a gorilla for you to compare with?” 

The Doctor tried to ignore him, poking through random bits and bobs on one of his old desks. 

“No, suppose that’s a bit too hairy. The freak was quite neatly trimmed wasn’t he? He always always came back freshly shaved. And so sensitive.” He stepped around beside the Doctor and ran his thumb up his smooth-as-ever jawline. 

“What’s wrong with you?” the Doctor asked in a strange, earnest way, like he genuinely wanted to know. 

The Master stroked two fingers over his pulse. “Just trying to understand what it is that draws you to them.” He paused, feeling the double-heartbeats. “Even just the echo now. When I went through all this trouble to bring you such a personalized gift, all you want to do is cry over the wrapping.” 

The Doctor looked back at him with dark eyes, reflecting nothing. 

“Perhaps I should try it for myself,” he mused, “If you don’t like it.” He leaned closer. “Perhaps we could share. You take the shell, I’ll take the core.”

“Leave her out of it,” the Doctor said. 

“Now why would I do that?” the Master mused. 

The Doctor sighed, ducked his head, and pressed his mouth to his mouth.

There was a slight pause followed by an experimental head tilt, and the faintest curling of lips. 

For all of his bluster, the Master was clearly familiar with more than the basics of the human methodology. He pressed back, turning the kiss into more of a hold. 

The Doctor could feel the moment it occurred to him to use teeth, followed almost immediately by a nip to his lower lip. 

He pulled back enough to say, “Don’t go overboard with that. You’ll set off the sensors.” He shuddered faintly, imagining Donna bursting in on them. 

Inconveniently, that seemed to spark interest in the Master. He arched one brow appraisingly. “Now that could be interesting. I’ll bet _she_ bites.” He punctuated the thought with another scrape of teeth. Just a fraction rougher. 

The Doctor absolutely refused to think any more about that. “She’s more likely to slap you.”

The brow arched higher. “Now _that_ raises a whole new…”

The Doctor kissed him again before he could complete that thought. He yelped as the Master bit down on his tongue and the lights flickered. 

“Ouch,” he said clearly.

“Oh, is that not how you like it?” The Master tilted his head and proceeded to give him the sweetest, gentlest kiss. For one long moment, it was so perfectly nice it made the Doctor’s teeth ache. 

His lips curled slightly, and he pulled back. “Lucy liked it gentle too.” He kissed him again, but the taste was more cloying, steeped in the memory of that poor woman, cowering in her fine clothes. 

“Why are you like this?” the Doctor asked. Earnest again, like he needed an answer. 

“Don’t pout,” the Master crooned, “You know you’re my favorite.” He shifted his grip slightly, pressing the collar in, and a moment later the dampeners eased off, just enough.

Sensation flooded back, too sharply, and all at once. 

The Doctor groaned, unwilling and unable to back off even from the overload, which felt so welcome after that awful nothingness. 

The Master leaned back in and kissed him again, rougher this time, but he barely noticed. He drank in the contact, starved for it. His hands were already connecting. 

The Master nipped again, and his appreciation flashed through his mind, overly bright and equally sharp. 

The Doctor bit back and the brief flicker of pain was entirely drowned out by dark satisfaction. There was nothing the Master liked more than bringing the Doctor down to his level. 

In that moment, the Doctor couldn’t remember why that was anything like a problem. 

He shifted, moving his mouth to the junction of his jaw, and scraped his teeth against the sensitive skin there. Pleasure sparked like a flashbulb. 

The Master bit down as well― too hard, but his own flinch was overwhelmed by the delectation flowing through the connection. 

“It doesn’t _have_ to hurt,” he chided, on principle. 

The Master shifted from his throat to the junction with his shoulder, biting down on the slightly less sensitive skin and then immediately laving the area with his tongue, soothing the sting. 

“Poor Doctor,” he murmured patronizingly, “Is this not human-style enough for your little fetish?” He dragged his mouth back into alignment, slowing his movements while carefully increasing the grip on his shoulder blade, digging in around the muscles. 

The door slammed open. “OK, _what_ are you―“ Donna’s voice boomed in and then cut off. 

The Doctor jerked back, and realized the lights were flickering reddish hues and had been for awhile. 

The Master turned to look at her over his shoulder, completely unconcerned. “I’ve told you your sensors are too sensitive.” 

She narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms. “Clearly, I should set it to ‘fumbling teenager.’” 

“You’d be the expert,” he said. “Now be a lamb and either set new parameters, or ignore your alarms for a bit.” He leaned forward, still looking back. “Unless you’d like to watch…?”

She looked the Doctor up and down with sharp eyes. “Doctor?”

“Just overdid it a bit,” he said. His voice came out a bit gravelly. “Would you mind?” He tilted his head toward the door.

The Master’s grip slid higher. “She can stay if she wants to.” 

The Doctor looked at her evenly. “I would prefer it if you left.” 

She frowned, looking between them. “You sure?” she asked the Doctor. 

He nodded, “Yes. We won’t set off the sensors again; we’ll be more careful.” 

He tightened his grip pointedly and the Master echoed, “Much more careful,” still eying Donna like a viper.

She stepped closer, running a hand up the Master’s spine. At the end of the arch, she dug her nails into the back of his neck, hard enough to leave indentations. 

Something dark spiked behind his eyes, reveling. 

“There we are,” she said, “Consider that your new limit.” She plucked a stray hair off his lapel, turned on her heels, and left. 

He smiled at the Doctor. “Shall we test it?” 


	10. Tidal Effects

Donna disappeared back into the depths of the TARDIS without a trace. The only indication of her continued existence came in the form of slightly displaced objects in common areas. 

After it became clear that they wouldn’t have any form of interaction for the foreseeable future, the Master resumed his casual tour. On the fifth day, he found the desert room and had the Doctor start digging a hole large enough for a crate. 

“Why is it that I get the sense you’ve offended our new companion?” the Master asked idly. 

“It’s difficult to say,” the Doctor grumbled, struggling with the loose sand. 

“You’ve quite a talent, I’ll give you that. I’ve destroyed entire planets just to see what would happen, but _you,”_ he drew out the syllable, “No one inspires hate quite like you. You must tell me your secret.” 

The Doctor occupied himself with digging. 

“Is it the psychological element? You get them to trust you, rely on you, and once they’re hooked you pull the rug out from under them…?” A pale scorpion was dislodged and the Master caught it up, watching it scurry over his knuckles as he turned his hand. “I suppose it takes patience. I’ve never been much for patience. Not when it comes to the sweeter things in life.” 

He brought his other hand up, leading the scorpion back and forth between the two on a slow-flowing möbius strip.

“You practically make it an art. How do you decide which ones would make the best pets? Do you pick the most spirited ones so they take longer to break?”

“They’re not pets,” the Doctor said. He noticeably didn’t deny the rest. 

The Master waved his free hand dismissively. “Pet, companion― it all means the same thing in the end, doesn’t it? A warm body to follow you around in the day and cuddle up with in the night.” 

“I’m starting to think you’re the one with the human fetish, the way you go on about it all the time.”

The Master tilted the scorpion lazily. “If you had a thing for, say, rubbing against door jams or licking the trichomes off fruit, I should think I’d be equally interested in what part of that was appealing to you. And now we have a new variable― something that used to be human that still seems to be piquing your interest. Presents a whole new layer of information. Those hot little hands must not be a dealbreaker; she’s long cooled by now…” He sat down next to him, folding his knees and balancing the arachnid between them. “She’s still quite soft though. Even with the new bones, the covering is quite… plush.” He curled his tongue around the word. 

“I’d really prefer it if you stopped now,” the Doctor said.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He shifted forward, coaxing the scorpion onto the Doctor’s shoulder and forcing him to stop moving. 

The Doctor looked up at him askance. 

“I think that’s deep enough. Let’s see if you can sit.” 

The Doctor sat, folding his knees up. 

“Good boy.” He swept an armful of sand in from the side, thoroughly coating the pinstripes. 

The Doctor startled, “Oh, for―“ 

“Careful,” the Master warned, “You wouldn’t want to alarm your new friend. I found her just for you.” He swept another armful of sand in, covering one leg. 

It only took him a few minutes to fill the hole most of the way. 

When the sand reached the Doctor’s shoulders the scorpion hopped down and started skittering around. 

“She seems a bit high strung,” the Master observed. “I do hope she didn’t have a nest in there.” He swept more sand in, smoothing it carefully up to the Doctor’s neck. “Now how’s that? Nice and cosy?” 

The Doctor made some small movements, clearly unable to actually dislodge himself. The scorpion circled his neck, investigating the shifts, and he stopped, pulling his chin a bit higher so she could get under it without clipping him. “This is your plan for today? Mildly annoying an arachnid?” 

“Hm?” the Master asked absently. “Oh, no. I just wanted a chat alone with your old pet. All this talk has made me rather nostalgic. She should be much easier to find without you broadcasting every little thought all over the place.” He stood up, brushing sand off his trousers.

The Doctor had to jerk his head away to keep from getting sand in his eyes, and when he looked up again the Master was already heading back. “What―“ The words registered on a delay. “What? No! Come back here!”

“Don’t be jealous,” the Master called over his shoulder, “I left you company. Try to draw out destroying her will to live for at least a couple of hours.” 

The Doctor remembered the scorpion just as she hopped into his peripheral vision, clearly objecting to the new movement. 

“Master!” the Doctor shouted after him, “You can’t just―“

“Hmmm?” the Master called back, sing-song, “I can’t quite hear you. We’ll chat more when I get back.”

* * *

“Oh, good, there you are,” the Master said, waltzing into Donna’s room. He looked her over. “Why are you all wet?”

Donna cursed and the glass container frosted itself nearly opaque. “I’m in the shower!” she hissed. 

He blinked at the enclosure. “Oh, so you are. Something of a strange hobby, that. You do realize that you no longer need―“ 

“Why are you in my bathroom?!” Donna cut him off. “How did you even get in here?” 

The Master propped up against the counter. “You do realize _I’ve_ been a Time Lord for _centuries_. I can work my way around a few measly false walls.” 

Donna cracked open the door enough to get her head out and give him a look that was probably supposed to be scathing, but was slightly off the mark due to her looking half drowned. 

The Master waved a hand. “By all means, don’t let me keep you from your unnecessary human holdovers.”

She glared harder. “Are you just going to stand there?” 

He picked up one of the colorful jars and unscrewed it, sniffing. “Would you prefer I join you?” 

“I would prefer that you get the hell out of here!” she snapped. 

“Poor thing, are your hormones acting up again? Still not quite flushed out of your system? Do you want me to give you a workover?” 

“No, no, and no!” she growled, ducking back inside. A series of slick noises restarted, managing to sound aggravated even through the glass. “What do you want that’s so flipping important it can’t wait until I’m done?” 

“I’m bored,” the Master said. “This is boring.”

The damp noises increased in severity. “Well, it’s not a floor show―“

“Not this, specifically― though it’s not thrilling,” he cut her off. “All this floating about aimlessly. One might wonder which of us are being held prisoner.” 

The noises paused, Donna’s vague outline going still. “You just had a field trip. Is this your way of asking for another one?” 

“Oh, do I need to ask? That’s strange; that doesn’t seem like something I’d need to do.”

There was another pause and then the water shut off. The door cracked open. “Hand me a towel.”

He obliged. The door remained cracked, steam escaping past the muffled rustling sounds. 

The hand reappeared. “Robe.”

“What’s the magic word?” 

“If you hand me my robe, I won’t lock you in a corridor maze,” Donna said. 

He hummed. “No, that’s not it.” 

“Hand me my robe or I’ll delete this room with both of us in it and we’ll find out together whether you can track me through the legacy network.” 

He studied his nails. “I’d imagine you’d catch quite the chill in that scenario.” 

“Let’s find out,” she said and the room lurched in on itself, collapsing around them. He stumbled as the countertop disappeared to be replaced with open air and a default TARDIS desktop came up. He caught a glimpse of a towel-wrapped, damp Donna Noble as she spun on her heels and disappeared through the single door. 

When he opened it there was a false wall painted with daisies.


	11. An Unstable Barycenter

Without any fanfare or warning, the Doctor found himself deposited in the console room in an explosion of sand. He straightened up, wincing at the sound of it leaking into the grating. 

“Sorry, Old Girl,” he muttered. 

“I should make you clean that up,” a sudden voice made him jump and look around before realizing it was Donna, not the TARDIS.

“Donna!” he said, “Quick question― do you happen to see a yellow fattail scorpion anywhere on my person? She’s a bit tetchy― Oh, hello!” He spotted her on his shoulder, and coaxed her onto his hand. “Bit disorientating, the reset process, but you should be fine in a moment. Donna, you wouldn’t happen to have a jar…?”

Donna squinted at him, but pulled a jar out of a nearby panel and handed it to him. 

He tipped the scorpion in gently and capped it off. “Got some nice air holes for you― thanks for that,” he patted the coral with one hand, holding the jar up with the other. “We’ll see about getting you a cricket when you’re feeling better. Would you like that?” 

The scorpion wobbled slightly.

He pocketed the jar and turned to Donna. “What’s that look for?”

She turned and left. 

He followed her, shaking sand off. “Might not want to wander off just now― the Master was looking for you.” 

“Found me. Annoyed me. Got himself locked in a logic loop in the archived levels for it,” she said. 

The Doctor stumbled. “What?” 

“You should have a good few hours of free time on your hands.” 

“You locked him in the archives?” he asked, grimacing already at the oncoming mood. 

“He barged in on me in the shower,” she said, and entered a random door. 

The Doctor darted forward and managed to catch it before it closed. “He what?!”

He was surprised to find himself in Donna’s room. 

Donna seemed surprised as well. She yanked her hand out of her pocket, where she’d immediately started digging for something. “Does no one have anywhere better to be today?” 

He snuck closer and patted her arms, checking for bruising or sensitivity. She certainly didn’t seem traumatized. “Are you all right? Did he…” He couldn’t quite decide how or if he wanted to finish that question.

Donna scoffed at him. “What’s he gonna do?” She then grimaced, looking suddenly ill. “You really need to work on your shielding.” 

He realized his hands were still on her arms and jerked them back to his pockets. “Sorry, sorry!” He tried once again to get the mental barriers solidified. It was nearly impossible to tell how successful his efforts were. 

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Donna advised, still looking a bit peaky. 

He gave himself a mental shake and then a little physical shake, grimacing when that resulted in a minor sand shower in the middle of her room. “…Sorry…”

Donna looked entirely unimpressed. “OK well, now that that’s all settled, you can clear off.” She made a vague shooing gesture. 

“I could just stand very still,” he suggested. 

She pressed her mouth into a thin line. “Not in my room you can’t.” 

He found himself on the other side of the door, not quite sure how he got there. The panel fused behind him, leaving nothing but a solid wall. 

* * *

The Doctor made it all the way through his shower and change without interruption and promptly found himself with a problem he hadn’t had in weeks: free time. On his own.

After scouring the halls, he decided to resume his efforts to convince the TARDIS that yes, it really was him and no, he was not in the throes of a psychotic break or whatever it was she seemed to think was wrong with him.

“Can you show me where Donna is?” he asked, stroking the coral. 

The TARDIS warbled. 

“Come on, you know it’s me,” he insisted urgently. “I’ve had a bit of an incident with some dampeners, but it’s still me.” 

A series of chirps sounded. 

He let the false gravity pull his head down, dropping his forehead against the rough organic overlay. “I know you aren’t used to talking to me like this, but _please_ try.”

The coral thrummed. When he pressed his fingertips against the surface, he could feel the vibrations like a pulse. 

He tried to focus on the tactile sensation instead of the unnatural silence inside of his skull. “After all these years, just you and me… Can you really not see me?” 

He thought he felt the coral warm slightly as the vibrations changed frequency. 

“I just want to help,” he said. “ _Please,_ can you help me find her?” 

There was a long, low whine. 

“Please,” he begged, “It’s _me_. I _promise_ it’s me.”

The TARDIS crooned. 

A door appeared under his hands. 

He let out an unsteady breath. “ _Thank_ you.”

* * *

Donna’s room was cast in low light and it took a moment for him to notice the familiar red hair peeking over the top of the covers on the bed. 

He crept closer. “Donna?” 

There was no response.

He gingerly set one knee on the far side, leaning over. “Donna?” he called, more quietly. 

The duvet rose and fell in deep, even breaths.

He sidled closer, watching for any signs that she might wake up and try to throttle him. He was so focused that he almost missed the slight shimmer, just on the edge of his peripheral vision. When he glanced over automatically, it disappeared. 

He frowned at the empty space. After a moment, he turned back toward Donna. 

The TARDIS’ hum changed pitch and there was another faint echo of something that seemed suspiciously like a preposterously advanced perception filter. Inside the TARDIS. Which was impossible. 

With a quick glance at the still-unmoving back of Donna’s head, he hopped up, working his way over to the corner where he’d notice the disruption. 

There was nothing there.

Just to be sure, he turned around and tried backing into it. 

Nothing.

The TARDIS rumbled beneath his feet. 

He shut his eyes, still turned away.

A vague impression of a handle brushed his fingertips. 

He grasped it carefully and turned.


	12. Instability

With a disorientating lurch, an entirely new room slanted into existence around the Doctor, crammed between the planes of Donna’s bedroom.

“―think I don’t know it’s risky? I’m the one who’s mind’s going to be linked up to that unstable, back-firing...”

He whirled around to find Donna grumbling to herself near the far corner, adjusting what seemed to be an elaborate filtration system constructed from antimatter. 

The TARDIS chirped and gurgled.

“Yes, well, if you have any better ideas, _as usual_ , I’d be more than willing to―“ 

A trill started up, increasing in volume. 

“ _No_ , we _can’t_ ask him. Remember what we talked about?” She wrenched something loose, waving it at the nearest strut. 

There was a low mechanical groan. 

“ _You do too_!” She scuffed her foot into the floor. “Don’t you start that non-linear nonsense! I _know_ you know what I’m talking about!” 

The Doctor spared a glance back toward the bed, where the striations of a holographic overlay were now lurching in and out of focus, making the false figure jump slightly like a skipping film. 

“I’m _not_ arguing with you about this again!” the real Donna groused behind him. 

There was a dull thunk, followed by a mechanical whirr. 

“No, _you’re_ the one who―“ 

He’d only turned his head back; hadn’t even shifted otherwise. There was no way he’d given himself away. But Donna whipped around to stare at him like he’d smashed a drum set into a glass case. 

They both froze. The Doctor felt his bypass kick in. 

Donna recovered first. “Oh, for― How did you convince her _this_ time?!”

The Doctor blinked. And then blinked again. “…What?”

She impatiently detangled herself from the tubing she’d looped over one arm, gesturing with the other. “The TARDIS― How did you get her to let you in here?” 

He blinked harder, turning that question over in his mind, trying to get it to make sense. “…What?” 

She grimaced, looking a strange mix of guilty and indignant. “You can’t keep doing this!” She crossed the room in four strides, suddenly closer than she’d been in days. Weeks, possibly. 

The Doctor struggled to work out any form of context. His eyes landed on one of the displays, showing a familiar quadruple helix of Time Lord DNA. One specific Time Lord. “…What? Donna, what are you― What _is_ this?!” 

She shook her head impatiently. “There’s no time for any of that!” She reached up, catching his face between her hands. “I can handle this, if you’d just _let_ me! What, are you hard-wired not to believe me about _anything_?!” 

There was a dizzying sensation, like vertigo. His thoughts whirled and refused to find purchase, slipping through his grasp. Vague, disjointed memories blew away before he could catch them.

The Doctor had the unsettling realization that they’d done this before. 

He jerked back to find Donna looking at him with impossible knowing. “I’ve almost got it,” she said, “I just need a little _more time_.”

The various components in view registered, slotting into a terrifying pattern. He stared back, horrified. “Donna, you _can’t_! He’ll _kill_ you!”

She puffed air through her cheeks and he felt it on his throat. “You always say that.” 

Her grip shifted, just enough for her fingers to connect to his temples. He realized the intent just a fraction of a second too late.

“I really am sorry,” she said, “But you said it yourself. There’s no other way.” 

There was a bewildering lurch as his own mind turned in on itself, grasping at connections as they severed. At the last moment, just before losing the thread, he managed to gasp one word. Something he was sure was important, even if he couldn’t remember why. 

“Midnight.” 

Even as he said it, he was already forgetting why it mattered. 

But Donna’s eyes lit up with understanding. She leaned forward and pressed a desperate kiss to his mouth. 

* * *

The Doctor must have fallen asleep because he distinctly remembered Donna facing away from him, but between one blink and the next, she’d turned, wedging her face under his jaw. 

It was hard to tell, but he suspected he’d been there for much longer than he’d meant to be. The ambient light seemed much lower, the way the TARDIS adjusted it for companions. 

Donna was oddly cool, like she’d just come in from outside. Even though she’d clearly been right next to him for what was starting to seem like several hours.

He hesitated, but couldn’t quite resist the urge to put one arm carefully over her. 

She burrowed closer, grasping at the front of his shirt. 

“Donna?” he whispered, “Are you awake?” 

There was a pause and then she slowly shook her head, just once. She didn’t release her grip on his shirt. 

He let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“Do you mind if I stay?” he asked, even more quietly. 

She snaked her arm under his, pulling him closer. 

“Are you all right?” he couldn’t help asking. 

She gripped him closer. “J’st tired,” she mumbled, “J’st need a min…”

He hugged her back, more than happy to give it to her.


	13. Fragmentation

The Doctor woke to cool fingers at his temple and red hair on the pillow in front of him. For a moment, he thoughtDonna might have just shifted in her sleep, but he realized he could still feel her arm looped over him, the other folded against his chest. 

“Now that’s nice,” the Master breathed against the back of his neck, colder than usual, “I get locked in a logic loop for the better part of two days and you take the opportunity to have a cuddle with your old moggy.” 

His muscles locked, even as he realized there was nowhere to go. “Just let me―“

“Shhh!” the Master hissed with his teeth up against the shell of his ear, “Mustn’t wake her. You know how tetchy she gets.”

His eyes adjusted enough to see Donna’s slack face, still pressed into the pillow. 

“Now then,” the Master continued, rubbing a slow circle against his temple, “How have you been keeping busy? Perhaps a little recreation before nap time?” 

The Doctor had the strange feeling, once again, that his memories were being carded through without any sensation to indicate it. He held still and left him to it, not particularly concerned whether the Master knew he’d taken a shower. 

After a few minutes, the pressure eased off, and the familiar fox-like face loomed over him. “Seriously? You’ve _seriously_ been sleeping?”

The Doctor shrugged under his weight, eying him as best he could. “How should I have known how long it’d take you to get out of the archives?” 

Slowly, nearly gently, the Master pulled his shoulder backward, rolling him onto his back. 

The Doctor eased Donna’s arm out of the way and didn’t fight the motion, trying to get some distance between them. It was a miracle she hadn’t woken already. 

He gave her a nervous glance, realizing that was actually a bit strange. She’d always been a heavy sleeper, but…

“Took you long enough,” the Master said, throwing a leg over to sit high on his hips. “Do you always render your cuddle buddies comatose before having a nap? It’s becoming hard to keep up with your growing list of paraphilia.” 

He jerked his head to the side and noticed Donna’s eyes weren’t moving behind her lids. She wasn’t asleep. She was unconscious. 

The Master caught his hands under his knees before he realized he’d started to reach. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chided,  “Don’t get too feisty too fast. You might notice the oxygen levels are a bit unstable at the moment. Minor hazard of having a pilot in a healing coma.” 

“What did you do?” The Doctor twisted, but the Master had all the leverage. 

He watched him thrash a bit, bemused. “ _I_ didn’t do _anything_. I assumed you got a little too enthusiastic in your efforts to make yourself useful." He bent down, leering. "I’ve always suspected you like it rough.” 

“I didn’t―“ the Doctor cut off, trying to think. He had a vague memory of her curling into him, gripping him closer even as she dropped off. But he hadn't noticed any indication of injury. 

The Master shifted, his legs tightening around his ribs. “Now that’s… What is _that_ …?” His fingers squeezed against his temples. “Have you been letting her in?”

The Doctor blinked, trying to make sense of that question. “Who?”

"Ohh, Doctor..." The Master’s eyes unfocused and refocused more sharply. “Our dear Donna has been tearing all kinds of things out of you,” he hissed, looking more reptilian by the second.

The Doctor frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. She wouldn’t even know how.” Something very unpleasant occurred to him. “…Did you show her how?” He cringed away from the prospect, trying not to imagine the Master picking through Donna’s unguarded mind. She wouldn’t even know not to― He tried to dispel the thought. 

The Master didn’t answer, his eyes unfocusing again, pupils flickering back and forth.

The Doctor shuddered under him. “Master, tell me you didn’t―“ 

He clamped down, drilling in and it _hurt_ even through the dampening collar. 

The Doctor pushed back automatically, earning himself a sharp shock, but the Master just kept drilling deeper. 

The ambient light flashed red, but the Doctor barely registered it, struggling to push him out and off. 

“Master! _Stop!_ ” 

The Master didn’t give an inch, gripping with bruising force as he burrowed deeper still. 

The lights flashed deeper red, and the cloister bells sounded, but the Doctor could barely make it out, struggling to free himself. His hands fisted in cloth, but the Master had all the leverage and it was nearly impossible to think around the spike being driven deeper and deeper into his head. 

A sharp, high-pitched sound cut in, shrieking at a debilitating frequency.

The Master ripped his hands free, clamping them over his own ears and suddenly Donna was tearing him off, shoving him back. 

The shrill cut off, but the ringing lingered, making it difficult to focus. 

Donna’s voice cut in and out, high and accusatory. 

The Master started laughing. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?!”

He laughed harder, twisted and mad. “Oh, I’ve underestimated you, haven’t I?” 

Donna went very still for just a second, but if the Doctor noticed then surely the Master had as well. 

“What are you talking about?” she asked. 

The Master straightened, radiating danger. “You were in his head,” he said. “ _Why?_ ” 

Her brows slammed down and together. “Why are you asking _me_ that? _You’re_ the one who shut off his shielding. I can’t very well help it if every time he touches me―“

“No,” the Master cut in, “Deeper than that. You took something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does that even mean?”

“She wouldn’t know how,” the Doctor insisted. 

Lightning quick, the Master lunged forward, clenching a hand around her neck, and slamming her back into the wall. “ _What_ did you do?” 

Her hands caught at his wrist and forearm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “Get your hands off me.”

The Master’s grip slid higher. “I won’t ask again.” 

“No, don’t!” the Doctor shouted, scrambling toward them. 

Donna met his eyes over the Master’s shoulder; her expression indecipherable.

The Master’s hands went straight to her temples, but instead of trying to block, she mirrored the movement. 

The moment he made contact, she did as well. Her mouth twisted into something like a smile as she murmured, “Midnight Protocol.” 

The TARDIS fell in on them. 


	14. Nova

The Doctor lurched back to consciousness screaming, a ring of fire burning straight through his throat.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” Donna’s voice wavered at the edge of his hearing, “Almost got it―“ 

There was a horrific crunch and for a moment he thought she’d somehow torn his spine out, but he was almost glad for it. Anything was better than the searing, screaming pain. 

Sixteen heartsbeats thundered in his ears, but the next wave of agony missed its mark, replaced with a numbing, ringing haze. 

The Doctor blinked up at the medbay ceiling, frozen between breaths, unwilling to risk any movement that might reawaken his frayed nerve endings. 

Donna’s face swam into view, twisting, and a curtain of red hair fell over his cheek.

“Breathe in,” she said, and he realized he was looking at the side of her head, turned so her ear was over his mouth. 

He pulled in air, feeling each molecule like glass in the back of his throat.

“Good!” Donna exclaimed, “That’s good― keep doing that― in and out!” 

He forced it back the other way. It sounded like a death rattle. But he managed another breath in, willing his lungs to re-engage. 

“Good, good, good!” she said, “That’s so good! Just focus on that!” The red curtain disappeared and cool fingers prodded at his throat.

He flinched away, cracking his head back, stars bursting black behind his eyes.

“No, this’ll help, I promise.” Something soft wedged itself between his head and the cot and the fingers returned to his throat, slicker this time. 

The salve tingled, numbing the ache and cooling the burn, and he groaned as the blinding searing pain simmered down to something that only flooded the relevant senses. 

She took another careful swipe, angling around his Adam’s Apple and he could swear he felt it along his vertebrae. “Just let me regenerate,” he rasped. 

Her fingers hesitated and then circled again. “Can’t be sure it’d work,” she said vaguely. 

He cracked open an eye, not sure when he’d clenched them shut again. “What?” 

She bent over and he heard a whir that sounded like the dermal regenerator. “I couldn’t finish the diagnostics. But the inhibitor was bored in _deep_. Deep enough to…” Her features swam into focus, looking ill. “Just― Let’s just try not to regenerate for a bit, shall we?” 

The Doctor pulled in more air, and his throat knit itself closed. Donna shifted the hand under his head, stroking ever so slightly, and he felt his eyelids drooping. 

“No, no, no,” Donna gave him a little shake, sending the room spinning, “You need to stay awake. Can you stay awake?” 

He forced his eyes open. “Course. Course I can.” 

“Oh, of course you can,” she muttered sarcastically, setting the regenerator aside.

Several realizations struck him all at once, as he realized he could feel _everything_ ― not just his torn and bloodied tissues. 

The TARDIS thrummed at the back of his mind, trying to work out what had been wrong with him. The Master was a muted presence― somewhere nearby but muffled, as though in stasis. And Donna, brilliant Donna, was right there next to him, radiating a flood of emotions too chaotic to pin down, but at the core of it there was something fond and warm and _wonderful_. 

He drank in her presence like water or oxygen, letting it fill his cells. 

“Donna,” he breathed, “Are you― Was this― What _happened_?”

She laughed that high, barking laugh that he hadn’t heard in _years_. “Short version? I worked out how to fix the Master. You’re welcome in advance.” 

He shook his head, but that just made the room spin. “No― what?” He tried again. “Donna, _what_?!” 

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “I got a look inside the sack of furious cats he calls a brain. Couldn’t just leave him out there, could I?” 

He struggled up onto his elbows. “But you― Why didn’t you just― I could have _helped_!”

She looked away, slightly sheepish. “Couldn’t risk it with you unable to shield anything. For a barking lunatic, he’s actually very hard to trick! I don’t even know when he made that collar, but he really went all out.” In spite of her light tone, she was practically vibrating with horrific half-formed suspicions of all the ways those modifications could have torn him apart from the inside. 

She visibly remembered that he was no longer blocked and cut off that line of thinking, so smoothly she might have been practicing for years. 

He stared at her, trying to make sense of any of it. “So you… aren’t mad at me?” 

She laughed again, sounding so painfully familiar. “Oh I _was_ ,” she clarified, “But there’s something about watching you get casually tortured for weeks on end that really takes the wind out of those particular sails.” 

The Doctor stared harder, like he might never see her again unless he could actively recall every detail of how she looked just then. “…You didn’t come back just for the TARDIS?”

She quirked her mouth into a small smile. “Oh no, I definitely came back for the TARDIS. But I guess if you’re here and you’re not doing anything better…” she trailed off, looking hopeful.

His hearts swelled in his chest, threatening to interfere with his lungs. He shifted closer, but she was already dragging him up into a hug.

He held on embarrassingly tightly, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“You’re a terrible prisoner, by the way,” she mumbled into his jacket. “Always trying to hang out and hold hands― oh! That reminds me!” She pulled a hand free and he thought she was going to pull back, but she just moved it to hover beside his right temple. “Er…may I?” 

His hands were already scrabbling up to her contact points. 

The first brush of contact was so welcome, he thought he might actually cry. Donna hesitated, lingering at the surface level, but he pulled her in, suddenly desperate for that missing connection now that it was within reach. 

She met him with equal enthusiasm, if less desperation. Her cautious curiosity soothed more than any balm, and he could feel her shivering pleasantly as his responses echoed back. 

Something occurred to her, tinged with mild apprehension, but she pushed forward. A moment later, he felt the strange sensation of memories being replaced. He wondered at the feeling of gaps filling in where he hadn’t noticed anything missing. Donna gingerly disengaged, pulling back to look at him. 

He blinked at her and blurted, “You snogged me!"

She pinkened. "Well, you knew that!"

"No! You snogged me _before_ that! And after! One time you practically--!" he cut off, gesturing. 

She looked a little embarrassed, felt _very_ embarrassed, realized they were still in contact, and started to pull back. “Yes, well, seemed like as good a distraction as any.” 

He caught her wrist, unwilling to let go of the lifeline. “Why?” 

An odd mix of emotions flickered just under the surface. “You seemed to like it,” she mumbled. 

He was struck with the very strange sensation of remembering something he hadn’t been able to just moments ago― _Feeling overcome with relief that she didn’t hate him. Pushing closer, half to see if she’d turn him away, half because he just couldn’t help it. A warm, bubbly sensation of welcome affection._

His brows slammed together. “How many times?!” 

She coughed. “Well. A few. Is it my fault that’s what you jump to every time?! I could set a very weird watch to it!” 

“No, not―“ he ruthlessly fought down a blush, “How many times did you tamper with my memory?” 

She pulled a guilty face. “Must be… half a dozen now?” 

His mouth dropped open with a creak. 

“But it was your idea! Well. The second, third and fifth times.” She made that light circling gesture with her fingertips and he had a disorientating rush of his own memories being called to mind. _Realizing there was no other way again and again, for the first time each time. Asking her outright to break the most sacred laws._

She pulled her hands free, eying him warily. “There wasn’t any other way,” she said, sounding so much like him that he thought he might be sick. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, because there was nothing else to say. 

She frowned at him. “ _You’re_ sorry?” She yanked him into a strangely violent hug. “ _I’m_ sorry!” 

He found himself gripping back just as tightly. “…Call it even?” 

There was a long, strange pause, and then Donna started laughing so hard it rattled his ribcage. “You barmy alien, I _missed_ you!” She angled her head, likely more out of instinct than actual intent, and their temples aligned, sparking a connection. 

He startled, shivering at the unexpected contact. She realized what she’d done and started to disengage, but he pulled her closer instead. 

Donna echoed back warmth and affection and let him in― far deeper than she should, but he was setting a terrible example, pulling her in as well. 

The Doctor could feel the wires getting crossed as her human instincts interpreted the Time Lord drive to connect as something more tangible, but when she pressed her lips to the space just behind his ear, he couldn’t find it in him to correct course. 

There was a hasty scramble to reconfigure, and then his mouth was on hers and she was pressing closer on every plane, completely unconcerned with any sense of barriers. 

An insistent trill echoed in the back of his mind, trying to catch his attention, but he ignored it, pulling Donna down with him, coaxing her closer and closer still. 

He expected her to balk at any minute, but she pressed in just as eagerly, flooding his senses with a feeling like homecoming. 

The insistent feeling intensified, changing pitch and struggling toward the foreground. 

Donna made a fascinating motion that rolled from thigh to chest, like kneading, but so much―

The press at the back of his mind shoved into his ears, ringing sharply. 

“Ah!” he cut off, ducking away as Donna reared back with a similar wince. 

“Right,” she said, scrubbing a hand over her face, “That’d be the protocol finding the root.” 


	15. Supernova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally estimated that this had one chapter left, but it turns out I meant that there were three chapters left and that I'd just post them all at once.

After a long pause in which nothing magically resolved itself, Donna levered herself up, pushing back onto her knees. She made a strange aborted attempt to sit back, realized exactly where that would require putting her weight, and instead rolled off the cot to her feet. 

The Doctor scrambled upright and set to the dubious task of straightening himself out. 

“Um,” she said, at the same time he managed, “Er…”

There was another slight pause, and then the TARDIS gave them both the mental equivalent of a sharp pinch. 

“I’ll just―“ Donna gestured over her shoulder. 

“I can―“ The Doctor raised his chin in the same general direction. 

There was something like a mutual nod and they turned to the quarantine chamber where the Master was suspended between dimensions like a wasp trapped in amber. 

“Good thinking starting where you left off with those Midnight failsafes,” Donna said.

He nodded absently, tapping at the nearest monitor. “Looks like you added a few modifications… Is that…?”

Donna leaned over his shoulder. “Yeah, I had to get a sample of his DNA for the biometric seal. Had to scrub my nails clean for a good hour just to be sure I got it out afterwards, but it was worth it.” She tapped in a few commands, and his readouts came up on the terminal. “Voila! Crystal clear differentiation between native Time Lord and invasive element.” 

He raised his brows, eying the exceptionally fine thread of corruption interwoven through the DNA. “Crystal clear,” he repeated doubtfully. 

“Clear enough,” she shrugged.

“So what’s the plan then? I try to detangle the thread without catastrophically altering his genetic makeup and you monitor his vitals to let me know if he takes a turn?”

“Sure,” she said slowly, “That would be the plan if we were _both_ incapable of forming plans. But since I’m here, I’ll be the one doing the altering. And the TARDIS can monitor. You can go make tea or something.” 

He was already shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s way too dangerous for you to―“ 

“Are you _seriously_ going to try _that_?!” 

“Well it _is_ dangerous! _And_ complicated! And _we’ve_ both been Time Lords for centuries longer than you!” 

She folded her arms into a judgmental knot. “Right. That’s it. Come here, I’m going to erase your memory again.” 

“Don-na!” He threw his arms out emphatically. “This is serious! You’re talking about altering core structures in his DNA! It’s completely forbidden and there are too many safeguards against it for me to even start listing them! Not to mention the fact that he’ll fight you every step of the way!” 

She somehow managed to roll her eyes while glaring. “I _know_ all that! That’s why _I’m_ going to do it! It’s my idea! I know what I’m doing! That’s more than anyone has ever been able to say about you!” 

“You can’t ask me to just sit here and watch you risk your life after I’ve just―“ He cut off, refocusing, “He’s _my_ responsibility!” 

“Oh, pfft!” she blew out her cheeks. “Don’t even try the guilt trip. You and he are the only reasons I’m still alive and if you think I’m just going to leave you to it, you’ve got another thing coming!” 

He grabbed her hands, deciding on a more direct approach. Straight to her bleeding heart. “I’ve been the last of us for so long. Please don’t ask me to go back to that.”

She looked back at him with all the understanding he’d hoped she’d never have. After a long moment, she sighed. “Ok, Spaceman. I won’t ask.” 

She shoved him back and stepped through the seal. 


	16. Event Horizon

If she’d expected anything, Donna supposed she’d have expected something like a haunted forest. Mist, darkness, and looming shadows. 

But the Master’s mindscape was curiously blank. A study in stark white lines and shapes that folded in and out of existence depending on the angle of viewing. A faint four-four rhythm was the only discernible sound. 

She moved deeper, or in the direction she felt should be deeper, rather. There was a strange sensation like vertigo, but instead of settling in her ears it swept through every thought, making it nearly impossible to tell where to start, much less which way to go. 

She forged ahead regardless. “Can you hear me?” she called. Or whispered. Or thought. 

Nothing echoed back except the drums. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she tried again. “I want to help. I can stop the drumming, if you let me.” 

The volume increased incrementally.

“Guess I didn’t really think that would work,” she grumbled to herself. “Right then,” she said, louder, “Slow path it is then.” 

She trudged deeper. Or swam. Or sank. It was hard to be sure of anything. The stark lines morphed between planes, giving no actual structure. Form lost all meaning. 

“Ok, you’re going to have to help me,” Donna said, long after time had ceased tracking. “If we take too long, the Doctor’s going to try to get in here.”

A crack appeared; immediately sealed.

Donna blinked at the unblemished space. “Oh, you remember the Doctor, do you?” 

Another crack, further away, just as quickly vanished. 

“Oh, you do,” she crooned. “Would you let the Doctor in deeper, do you think?”

Two sharp cracks. 

She followed the movement. “I think you would.”

A fissure ripped open and closed again. 

“But that’s exactly why he can’t be the one to do this,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You’d let him in too deep. Try to pull him in further. And we both know what’s waiting in there.” 

The drumline ticked up again.

“I’m not going to tell you it’s not real. Because it is. It’s very, very real. But it’s not a part of you.” 

The rhythm picked up in both pace and volume. 

“It’s a parasite,” she continued, louder. Or softer. It was still hard to tell. “A very clever parasite, put into you by very clever people. But you know that. A part of you has always known that.” 

A crack formed, quieting the drums momentarily. 

“They wove it in so close to the rest of you, but that was just part of the act. It’s not really part of you. It can be taken out.”

Something cracked open, oozing dark, viscous doubt. 

“I have part of you in me,” she reminded him, “Just you. The parasite couldn’t transfer.” 

Darkness welled underneath her, thick and dreadful. 

“I could show you,” she offered. 

The void opened, swallowing her down. 

* * *

The Doctor paced around the medbay for what felt like days, but was more likely hours. Possibly minutes. He circled by the displays on every loop, but nothing seemed to change. Steady life signs. No flags. Nothing to indicate either success or failure. Just an even stream of ticks and lines.

He briefly considered whether this was what madness felt like. He was feeling more sympathetic for the Master by the second. 

He circled the screens again, eying the seal.

The TARDIS grumbled a warning in the back of his mind. She’d given him a sharp shock to get him away the last dozen times and she was perfectly willing to do it again. 

He’d designed the containment field himself, in the days after Midnight when he couldn’t sleep until he could ensure that his magnificent TARDIS couldn’t be tricked by parasites, no matter how deeply imbedded. No matter how much they might look or sound or feel like him. 

And now here he was, locked on the outside of that prison. Exactly where he’d never planned to be. 

Skewed through eleven dimensions, the two Time Lords were nearly indistinguishable. If he concentrated, he could occasionally make out red hair or a broad hand, but they quickly shifted out of focus, blurring together. In a chamber designed for what he’d believed to be the last Time Lord in existence, he hadn’t thought to set up any means of distinguishing between captives. 

The TARDIS rustled through his awareness, trying to soothe, but she was distracted as well, maintaining the fields in just the right balance took nearly all of her substantial energy. He was reminded, once more, that he’d never intended any of this for extended use. It was a holdover at best. 

He paced around again, wondering if he could actually wear a track in the floor if the TARDIS got distracted enough. 

A low groan caught his attention, and he whipped around just in time to see one of the flickering forms lurch in on itself, pulling the other with it. 

He launched himself at the paneling. “No― No, no― Nonononono!” The steady lines were tapering off, losing the rhythm. 

Fading away.

He flattened himself against the sealed frame, digging desperately at the smooth edges for anything he could breach. 

The TARDIS didn’t drive him back, too focused on the unstable energy, rapidly deconstructing. 

He pressed his forehead against the false surface, willing it open. Praying for just a crack to work through. 

At the very edge of his awareness, he could feel both Donna and the Master growing fainter, drifting out of reach. He tried to call out, to call them back or at the very least to beg them to take him too.

There was no response.

* * *

The drums would not go quietly. Donna knew they wouldn’t. She wasn’t surprised that they’d fight and claw their way deeper and deeper to avoid her grasp. 

She _was_ surprised by how much it _hurt_. Even just being near them.

At a distance they rumbled, but up close they roared louder than anything that could ever be physically heard. The punishing beat struck over and over again , beating down relentlessly on what felt like raw nerves. 

The Master vacillated between trying to latch everything closed and just throwing it all open. The blows came either way. What did it matter where they landed? 

After mere moments, it was completely maddening. Donna shuddered to think of what a lifetime would take to get through. 

She tried to get him to focus, to help her detach the source from the pain, but he couldn’t seem to distinguish her from it any more than he could tell an individual molecule of carbon monoxide from carbon dioxide. 

“Come on,” she pleaded, “You know the difference between you and it. If you can find the seams, I can pull it free. You know I can. I've been practicing. Even _you_ couldn't tell what I'd done to the Doctor.” 

It wasn’t working. She could feel it getting worse, latching on tighter if anything. 

The Doctor was going to be on his own. Again.

The Master bled ichor as black as the void, drinking it in as it drowned him.

She felt the levels shift, pulling them both down and apart and it was so hard to care. The drums drowned out all sense of self. All sense of purpose. 

“I guess this is it then,” Donna sighed as the tides caught her up. “At least we tried, right? Maybe he’ll put that on our graves.”

The viscous taste of defeat overwhelmed the drums momentarily, a new layer of dark, sharp, horrors. 

“He’s going to be crying about this for eons,” she mused. “I don’t pity whatever companion he picks up next.”

The darkness roiled at the thought. 

She felt it recede slightly, like it might know where the equilibrium lay after all. 

“Don’t like that, do you?” she said, “Maybe the next one will be blond. You know how he likes blondes. Probably a girl too― he does have a type, doesn’t he?”

In the distance, there was a single note of pure despair― the Doctor trying and failing to get past the barriers.

The drumming ticked down a notch as the black pools ebbed, turning inwards for that distant connection. 

“Not that it’d matter,” she felt carefully for the center. “He could pick up a shrub and it would end up in love with him. The whole universe is just obsessed, and they can’t even see him. Not like you and I can.” 

There was a strange effort to focus and a pinprick of essence flowed through it. 

Donna latched onto it immediately, pulling for all she was worth. 

The drums thundered into a maddening cacophony, but she tightened her grip and yanked. 


	17. Stabilization

The containment chamber decompressed, dropping the two Time Lords back into their physical forms, and knocking the Doctor back with the pressure outlet. 

He scrambled inside, dropping down between them and latching on to whatever he could grip. 

The Master ended up half in his lap with Donna dragged over his shoulders, panting down the back of his collar. 

“Ow,” the Master grumbled, shoving an indignant hand over his eyes, “That _hurt._ ”

“Of course it hurt,” Donna gasped, fumbling an arm around to try to hold herself upright. “What, did you think it’d feel like a nice day at the spa?” 

There was a pause in which he very obviously did not ask whether it had worked. 

The Doctor knocked his hand out of the way, establishing the connection without any concern for decorum. 

There was another long pause, in which all three listened for drums that didn’t sound. 

“It worked,” the Doctor breathed, holding the connection just to be sure. 

Nothing. Just the Master. Still shatterfried, but missing that corrosive element. 

“It worked!” he shouted, far too loudly for the enclosed space. All three Time Lords winced, but he was already dragging Donna into an enthusiastic snog. 

“Oi!” she shoved him back laughing. “Trying to breathe here!” 

Undeterred, he bent down and dragged the Master up by the back of the neck instead. 

After a noticeable lag, he shoved away with a grimace. “Ugh! Can you not keep your disgusting human habits to yourself for _five minutes_?”

The Doctor laughed, slightly hysterical, and dragged them both into a tangled, argumentative hug. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he chanted.

“Going to be less okay when you smother me to death,” the Master grumbled, but didn’t make any real effort to fight him off. 

Donna just laughed, high and barking. 

* * *

After a somewhat awkward nonverbal negotiation, the three Time Lords separated to straighten themselves up, heading to their own designated spaces. 

The Doctor spent far more time than was absolutely necessary fiddling with his hair and still wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, so he eventually headed to the galley. Donna appeared a moment later with freshly painted nails. Clearly not the only one stalling.

He caught her hesitating in the reflection on the kettle, but she walked right up and started pulling out mugs and biscuits.

“Nice nails,” he commented idly. 

“Nice hair,” she returned, and nudged him over with one shoulder. She reached into the seemingly empty space next to the toaster and pulled out a box of Garibaldi biscuits. 

He scoffed indignantly. “I’ve been looking for those!” 

She smirked. “Yeah. That’d be why they’re hidden.” She held out the box, carefully angling it so that he could select biscuits, but not take the container. 

He popped one in his mouth and immediately grabbed a second. “Shouldn’t you be transferring the TARDIS link back to me any minute now?” 

She swapped her empty mug for his full one and took a sip. “Why would I do that?”

He put on his most authoritative glare. “Because it’s _my_ TARDIS.”

“Doesn’t feel like it from here,” she mused, and he felt the TARDIS twittering. 

“You’ll have to give her back eventually!” he insisted. 

She hummed noncommittally and pulled some custard creams out of the empty space behind the breadbox. 

“Stop doing that!”

“Don’t whine,” she said, “ _I’m_ not opposed to sharing.” 

She pulled a biscuit out, put it between her teeth, and gave him a look that he really hoped he wasn’t misreading. After a brief consideration of risks, he leaned forward and bit the other half. 

There wasn’t an immediate slap or shout and he cautiously continued crunching until they could manage a strange, crumbly kiss. 

Donna smiled and tasted like all of his favorite things. 

“Oh, fantastic, it’s spread to the food supply,” the Master’s flat voice horned in from the doorway. He tugged at the sleeve of his suit, looking judgmental. 

Donna tossed him a custard cream, ignoring the Doctor’s indignant yelp. “Don’t worry, we saved you some.” 

He caught the biscuit, sniffing. “And am I supposed to just eat this dry like some sort of animal?” 

The Doctor blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Is that your way of asking for tea… or…?”

“Tea!” the Master snapped, “Obviously!” 

“Oh, obviously,” the Doctor and Donna mocked in unison, bobbing their heads back and forth like sarcastic puppets. 

“I could still murder you,” he reminded them, idly. 

They bobbed their heads a bit more, adding faces to the mix. 

“All right, that’s it!” he stalked over, only to have a mug shoved into his hands. 

“Awfully uppity for someone who just had their life saved by ‘a half-breed mongrel,’” Donna said. She turned to the Doctor, “Low blood sugar, do you think?” 

He nodded, taking the opportunity to steal another Garibaldi biscuit. “Looks like.” 

She ruffled his hair and then ruffled the Master’s before he could think to step back.

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” he said between gritted teeth. 

“Oh get off,” she bumped him out of the way with a hip. 

“I’m actually going to murder her,” he informed the Doctor.

The Doctor just grinned and passed the sugar. “Good luck with that.” 

“Oi!” Donna barked, “Is that any way to talk about your pilot?”

“It’s _my_ TARDIS,” the Doctor repeated, louder. 

“Shall we try a trip, do you think?” she pointedly asked the Master.

He raised an eyebrow. “Not going to lock me away with the other terrible, dangerous things?”

She sipped at her tea. “Why? What have those poor things ever done to deserve _that_?” 

He narrowed his eyes and then smiled sharply. “I _knew_ you’d be fun.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also on [tumblr](https://1-of-those-things.tumblr.com/).


End file.
